After the first two songs, Ian Anderson noted that those tracks were from '68 & '69. He then noted they were going to play an entirely more modern song...from 1972.

Jethro Tull inspired me to write something about appreciating music. Yes, Jethro Tull. That monster of rock n roll and prog rock from the 70s. There are a lot of reasons as to why; one is that I saw them play live a few days back. Another reason is that, many years ago, I really liked the band. I had their records and, in some cases (Aqualung, Stormwatch, Heavy Horses), I listened to them in that crazy way only a kid can.

I would have never disowned them totally even though by the time I was 15 or 16 I was listening to punk rock. One of the sillier things about punk rock was that you were just NOT supposed to appreciate the music that came before. For one, they had long hair, which of course really matters a lot in judging talent and songwriting ability. Another issue was that they could really PLAY. I mean punks weren’t supposed to be able to play (although, let’s face it, a lot of them could-The Clash’s Paul Simonon, Siouxsie and The Banshee’s Budgee spring readily to mind). It was all silly crap to market music to kids. Don’t listen to what those OLD 29 year olds listen to!

And then they sell you a new wardrobe, then everyone figures out it is bullshit and they come up with the next bullshit to sell to the next group of teenagers.

Uh huh...complete anarchy...in that totally oppressive state of Great Britain....

Some bands survive this and some don’t. Jethro Tull survived up to a point and remained big venue viable into the 80s. But then something odd happened, in the late 90s they won the first ever Grammy for heavy metal. As Anderson said in explanation; they didn’t win a Grammy for being metal. They won a Grammy be for being a bunch of nice guys who had never won a Grammy before. And I think that metal Grammy brought them back into the limelight in a negative way (even though the presupposed winner, Metallica, had a good humor about it).

But anyway, that is also a bit after the fact. The sort of hard rock, meets prog, meets folk that Jethro Tull play is all over the place and distinct and hard to pigeonhole. It isn’t like the blues stealing Led Zeppelin or the fiscal machine that is the Rolling Stones. It is, kind of unique. Name ONE other rock band, and one that did rock pretty hard, who featured, consistently, the FLUTE.

Ian Anderson’s voice is no longer what it was. No doubt about it. But he plays guitar and flute still with perfection and ferocity. And it is still obvious this music means something to him and he MEANS what he plays. He has a sense of humor about himself and is a master story teller and joker, sort of a court jester in a way. He poked fun at the brief emergence of prog rock in the early 70s, listing bands like ELP, Genesis, King Crimson and others who, for a two year period had “their heads up their asses”. He then admitted that he did as well suggesting “it was quite cozy up there.” Next they broke into the second song of the evening, a great version of the sprawling Thick As A Brick.

The evening was mostly older material obviously, as the tour is, in part, a tribute to the 40th anniversary of the classic record Aqualung (an extended version with alternate takes, 11 of them, comes out in September). And Aqualung is truly a classic. Leave aside, for a second, the two most often played tracks, the title and Locomotive Breath, the rest of the record has such songs as Mother Goose, Wind Up (regrettably not played the other evening) and the profound—lyrically and musically, My God. The song was arguably the best of this evening and may be the best on this record. It is a lambasting of organized religion, without being totally dismissive of the basic concept of God (the same could be said of Wind Up). It is an angry young man’s castigation of old men in robes, oppressing as they burn incense and make moral pronouncements based on nothing. The other night it was an old man singing it.

Sometimes you forget how good some music is. There are a lot of reasons why this happens. One is just time, you forget the details. You may forget the songs and then, years later, you hear them again and something clicks. You remember how good they were, what they meant to you. A missing part of your life floods back into your conscious mind.

And there is something strange about this. I am certain the mostly older crowd may have been radicals in their day. Today they are probably Episcopalians who, were the show on the other side of the Atlantic, might shift uncomfortably in their seats at “and the bloody Church of England, in chains of history, request your earthly presence in the vicarage for tea” To say nothing of how the remaining non-lapsed Catholics would react.

The music comes alive again and brings back a part of your life. You get how it moved you again. You can, if you let yourself, get past the jadedness that settles on you as you get older. You can also free yourself from that bizarre adolescent self definition with a style of music that made it yours and helped you identify who you were. You shouldn’t as a grown up, need that nonsense anymore. You can like a band with old guys in it, even if it makes you feel old. You can still like the latest music too. Hell, you should, but it is ok to get excited when you hear; “Sitting on a park bench….”

This is a rare non-humor piece. I just felt inspired to write it. SO deal with it, and go listen to Aqualung.